Heima
by WinterSky101
Summary: The Northmen return to Wessex. Athelstan is pleased. King Ecbert isn't. Post-2.05 (Answers in Blood).


**I love Athelstan and I will not apologize for it.**

**This takes place after Answers in Blood and completely disregards the canon in Unforgiven. Really, the only reason for that was so I could have Athelstan still be badly injured from the crucifixion. I know, I'm a terrible person. Also, I really don't like/trust King Ecbert at all. Anyway, hope you enjoy the fic!**

**Note: The title is old Norse for "home."**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Vikings.**

* * *

Athelstan is in his room when King Ecbert arrives. It's an unexpected visit; the king has never come into Athelstan's room before. He immediately grabs his crutch and uses it to maneuver himself onto his knees.

"My liege," he murmurs. King Ecbert's lips turn upwards into a smile that immediately puts Athelstan on guard.

"Pagan." Athelstan doesn't think King Ecbert has ever called him by his true name, but unlike how some of the Northmen still playfully call him priest, the king's name for him seems less affectionate. "The Northmen have returned."

Athelstan's heart soars, but he keeps his face flat. "They have?" he asks in a politely curious voice. King Ecbert nods.

"I can only assume that they wish to continue where they left off, sacking my villages and killing my people." Athelstan has a bad feeling about where the king is going. "But I have a weapon against them that they will not be expecting." Without warning, the two guards that had been standing behind King Ecbert seize Athelstan by the arms and haul him upright. "If these are your Northmen friends, they will not want me to harm you. And if they come any closer and kill any of my people, I swear I will."

"Do you think they truly care about me that much?" Athelstan asks, his voice taut with pain. The king's men are holding him in an uncomfortable position, especially with his wounds. He thinks he feels one or two of the wounds on his chest and back reopen, but as long as his hands and feet do not, the pain is manageable. "The Northmen will not sacrifice treasure for me."

"I believe it depends on which ones have come," King Ecbert replies. He gestures to the guards, who shove Athelstan onto the bed. Another man walks in with a pile of clothes - Athelstan's clothes that he wore when he was captured - topped by his arm ring. "You must be recognizable, of course," King Ecbert adds. He nods to his guards, who tear off Athelstan's new clothes without a thought to his dignity. Almost before Athelstan knows what's happening, they've redressed him and shoved the arm ring onto his arm. It's the wrong side. Athelstan wants to take it off and put it where it's supposed to go, but he doesn't dare, not with King Ecbert watching.

Athelstan's old clothes from Ragnar feel more comfortable than any clothes from England ever could. Even though the arm ring is on the wrong side, Athelstan still feels that its presence is a comfort, reminding him of who he is. His reminder used to be his cross from England. Now it is his arm ring from the North. Somewhere along the line, Athelstan changed, and he's not quite sure if he can pinpoint when it happened. All he knows is that it did.

"Take him with us," King Ecbert commands. "We're going to speak with the pagans." The guards drag Athelstan forward, and oh God that hurts. Walking with his crutch is painful enough, but this… Being forced to put his weight on his feet is almost unbearable. King Ecbert and his guards either don't notice or don't care. A few steps in, Athelstan is almost certain the wounds on his feet have reopened. He doesn't know how much more he can bear.

They haven't even gone through the town gates yet.

Thankfully, there's a horse waiting for Athelstan once they leave the gates. His hands are tied together and then tied to the saddle, not that Athelstan would try to run away. If he did, he would almost certainly fail. Getting on the horse when it wasn't moving was painful enough; Athelstan can't even imagine trying to dismount while in motion.

King Ecbert sets the pace at a gallop that makes every inch of Athelstan's body ache in seconds. He's not used to riding, especially not at such a pace and with nearly every spot on his torso wounded. Thankfully, the speed means the ride isn't very long. A short distance away from the Northmen's camp, King Ecbert stops the horses and dismounts. One of the guards pulls Athelstan off his horse as well.

"Now, we shall talk to the Northmen," King Ecbert declares. "And you shall be my bargaining chip."

"I shall not," Athelstan retorts, a weak attempt at defiance. At a nod from King Ecbert, one of the guards holding Athelstan drives his thumbs into Athelstan's hands and dear Lord the pain is indescribable. Athelstan chokes on the cry that threatens to tear its way out of his throat. He will not show such weakness. Then the guard's thumbs drive in deeper and Athelstan forgets his pride, forgets everything and screams. When his vision clears, King Ecbert has a cruel smile on his face.

"Come along, little pagan." King Ecbert begins walking and the guards drag Athelstan along as well, so he has no choice but walk more, every step agony. Athelstan doesn't need to look to know that the dressings on his feet and hands are soaked in blood.

"Northmen!" King Ecbert yells as they reach the edge of the camp. Athelstan recognizes the tents and the ships and the people and oh no, the king's plan might just work. Of course the one to step forth is Ragnar. He doesn't notice Athelstan at first, smiling genially at King Ecbert. Athelstan knows that smile, knows how deceiving it is. Ragnar is ready to kill. Athelstan hopes he does.

"King Ecbert," Ragnar says in his most polite voice. "How good to see you. As you can tell, I have returned, and I am not very pleased with the way the negotiations went in my absence."

"You're a fool if you think you suffered from our hostilities," the king replies. "Your men were not slaughtered."

"Not so," Ragnar counters. "I have heard from King Horik that most of his men were ambushed and killed, and only he, his son, and a handful of his warriors survived."

"Not so," King Ecbert replies, his voice mocking. "There was another that made it out of that alive." With a gesture, the guard holding Athelstan drags him out into Ragnar's view. Athelstan doesn't look up, hopes that Ragnar won't recognize him, prays that the king's plan will fail…

"Athelstan?" Ragnar gasps, and all of Athelstan's hopes and prayers are crushed. "What have you done to him?!"

"I did nothing," King Ecbert replies innocently. "Or, almost nothing. This pagan is an apostate, someone who turned from God. He was being crucified when I found him." The look on Ragnar's face shows he doesn't completely understand the word, but he knows it's bad. "I saved him from certain death. Tell him, pagan, how I saved you."

"Do not trust him-" Athelstan begins in the language of the Northmen, knowing only Ragnar will understand. King Ecbert pointedly steps on Athelstan's foot and Athelstan screams, the whole world going white with pain. Ragnar looks horrified when Athelstan's vision clears.

"In a language we will all understand," King Ecbert commands pleasantly. Athelstan forces himself not to do anything stupid.

"I was being crucified when King Ecbert told his men to cut me down and save me," Athelstan tells Ragnar through clenched teeth.

"Tell what a crucifixion is," King Ecbert adds. Athelstan takes a deep breath.

"A crucifixion is when someone is nailed to a cross of wood by their hands and feet," he explains. He adds the word in the Northmen's language, and Ragnar's eyes go wide. Athelstan wished he didn't understand, but he does, and there's nothing to be done about it now.

"Give me back Athelstan now," Ragnar demands. King Ecbert raises an eyebrow.

"And what will you give me in return?" he asks. Ragnar grinds his teeth.

"What do you want?" he asks. King Ecbert pretends to think for a moment.

"I want you to leave and never return," he replies. Ragnar nods.

"Give me Athelstan."

"Oh, but how do I know you'll keep your word?" King Ecbert asks. "If I give you my leverage, then you will almost certainly pillage my people anyway. There is no reason for me to give you this pagan until I am sure of your true intentions."

"Don't listen to him, Ragnar," Athelstan begs. One of the guards simply runs his fingers over Athelstan's hands, barely putting any pressure on them. But the wounds are so sensitive that the simple touch hurts and Athelstan is only barely able to keep in a soft whimper. Ragnar must be able to see the pain on his face, though, for his eyes narrow.

"What would you have me do?" he asks King Ecbert. The king shrugs.

"I'm not sure. I believe we're at an impasse. Neither one of us can truly satisfy the other."

"I grow tired of your games," Ragnar snarls, reaching for his ax. Immediately, there is a knife at Athelstan's throat. Ragnar freezes.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," King Ecbert scolds. "Not if you value the life of your friend here." It occurs to Athelstan that perhaps this is a way out. If he can throw himself forward onto the knife with enough force, he'll be taking himself out of the game. Then King Ecbert will have lost his bargaining chip and Ragnar will be able to act without anything in his way.

"Athelstan, don't you dare," Ragnar calls out sharply in his native tongue. Athelstan's plan must be visible on his face. Even though Athelstan is no longer Ragnar's slave, it is still second nature to obey his commands. Athelstan does.

"So," King Ecbert says, crossing his hands in front of him and looking every inch a reasonable man. "What shall we do next?"

Another plan occurs to Athelstan and he begins murmuring in the Northmen's language. King Ecbert whirls around. "What are you saying?" he demands.

"It's a prayer," Athelstan replies. "A prayer to the pagan gods." That gets Ragnar's attention. Never before has Athelstan prayed to the Northmen's gods of his own volition. "I am praying to be taken to Valhalla when I die." Athelstan dearly hopes that Ragnar understands what he's doing, or else it'll all be for naught.

"Are you expecting to die?" King Ecbert asks. Athelstan responds to his stony look with one that is equally cold.

"Are you expecting to kill me?" The response amuses the king.

"Pray, then," he replies. "Pray to your heathen gods. If you Northmen are right, you will be meeting them soon enough. If not, I do not believe you will enjoy Hell."

With permission granted, Athelstan continues to murmur under his breath, just loud enough for Ragnar to hear. From the look on Ragnar's face, he's listening. Good.

What Athelstan's saying is far from a prayer.

* * *

The next day, while Athelstan sits in his room with two men guarding the door, the warning bells begin to ring. He smiles. So Ragnar heard him and heeded his advice, and he is using what Athelstan told him about the town to attack it. One of Athelstan's two guards leaves, while the other one goes into Athelstan's room and grabs him by the upper arm.

"It was King Ecbert's order that you be killed publicly, if the Norsemen attack," he grunts. Athelstan smiles grimly. He's not surprised. Actually, he's planned for this. When the guard has led Athelstan halfway to the door, Athelstan springs into action. He drives his knee hard into the guard's groin, and in his moment of pain and distraction, grabs the guard's knife. There's no hesitation as he slits his throat.

Leaving the dead body on the ground, Athelstan grabs his crutch and limps outside. The Northmen are everywhere, attacking and killing and winning. Athelstan wishes he could keep a grip on his knife, just in case, but the pain of holding it so tightly is taking its toll, so Athelstan instead drives the knife into the back of a Saxon that's fighting a Northman right in front of him. As the Saxon collapses, Athelstan realizes the Northman is Floki.

"Priest," Floki greets in his strange way, his eyes squinting as he studies Athelstan. "We all believed you to be dead."

"Not quite," Athelstan replies. Floki giggles.

"I should take you to Ragnar," he tells Athelstan. "Follow me."

Heedless of the carnage around them, Floki leads Athelstan to the gates, killing a few Saxons on the way. Right outside waiting is Ragnar, standing next to a young man that Athelstan feels he should recognize.

"Priest!" the young man calls, and Athelstan suddenly realizes it's Bjorn, five years older than the last time he saw him. Both he and his father are visibly relieved to see Athelstan, and Athelstan can't say he's not relieved to see them too.

"Bjorn," he replies, smiling. "You've grown."

"You have changed from the slave I used to threaten to sacrifice," Bjorn replies. Athelstan's smile grows at the memory.

"Athelstan," Ragnar greets, stepping forward. "Bjorn is going to take you back to our camp. We will treat your wounds and, if you so wish, you and a few others can take a ship back to Kattegat."

"Thank you," Athelstan replies. He has no intention of returning to Kattegat before the others, but he knows what the offer signifies. Bjorn leads a horse over to Athelstan and helps him climb on, getting on another himself. Their pace is slow so as not to aggravate Athelstan's wounds any further.

"Tell me if you are in any pain, and we can stop," Bjorn calls as they ride off. Athelstan smiles.

"Will you stop, or will you sacrifice me to Thor?" he asks. Bjorn chuckles.

"I can think of better things to sacrifice than a friend," he replies. Athelstan would never admit the warmth that spread through him at the title.

"I'm glad of it," he tells Bjorn. They arrive at the camp quickly, and a shieldmaiden Athelstan doesn't recognize puts new bandages on his hands and feet. Bjorn looks horrified as she reveals the holes punched into them.

"What happened to you?" he gasps. Athelstan smiles slightly as the shieldmaiden tells him he can leave.

"If you tell me what you and your mother have been doing for the past five years, then I will tell you what happened to me," he bargains. Almost before he knows it, he and Bjorn are seated at a table, conversing as if they have never been apart. It's a nice feeling.

When Ragnar returns, his face covered in blood but triumphant, he presses a kiss to the top of Bjorn's head. Without hesitation, he presses another to the top of Athelstan's. A smile lights up Athelstan's face.

He is home.


End file.
